


One Direction: The Facade

by californiaz



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Harry, Depressed Niall, Depressed Zayn, Depression, Eleanor Calder & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, F/M, Fights, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, M/M, Niall Horan & Liam Payne Friendship, One Direction Hiatus, Post-Zayn One Direction, Zayn Malik & Harry Styles Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/californiaz/pseuds/californiaz
Summary: "I am so sick of this," Niall muttered, "the fucking golf caps and all of this fucking shit--I hate golfing, and my management makes me pretend that I fucking love it."And then Niall fell silent, and Liam was even quieter, because the balcony doors slammed open and there stood Zayn, his hair jet-black without the green tips Niall had always seen him with in the tabloids. He was muscular as usual, ink-black tattoos standing out on his tan skin, and Niall had to stop himself from lunging towards Zayn, because he was scared that he'd kill him.





	One Direction: The Facade

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a mess? Yes! Will you enjoy this mess? I hope!!

"How are you, bro?" Niall asks as he gives Liam a quick bro-hug, glancing around at the people around them. The BRIT after-parties were especially hard to deal with, because the occasional photo-taking fan could sometimes make it in despite how tight security was.

"Fucking horrid, mate," Liam hissed, pulling away quickly and smiling for a quick photo. "This fuckin' outfit is fuckin' rubbish, and that bitch'--he gestures to Cheryl, who's inside--"just won't let the fuck up. We've been fightin' for fuckin' months, mate. And you see this shirt, this shirt with fuckn' chains attached? Rubbish, mate, I look like a fuckin' prat."

"You are one, Liam," Niall reminds him gently. "Well, at least, that's your public appearance."

"Thanks for the reminder, ya bloody fucker," Liam growled back, "I'm going to get another beer." He disappeared into the crowd. Nialls rubs his bloodshot eyes and groans. He hated this, all of this. Being in the band was horrible-- _and Jesus Christ,_ he thought, _Louis and Harry had to pretend to be in a secret relationship, and how the fuck was getting out of that somehow even worse? Once they got out, though, they immediately had to change their pubic appearance, their style. Zayn was the only one who got free,_ Niall thought bitterly, _and fuck him, for leaving us in the dust._ And then Liam was back with another beer, swaying on his feet, his eyes red and his jacket smelling thickly of weed.

"Jesus, you'd think that shit wouldn't be allowed here, right at the BRITs after-party," Niall muttered, covering his nose.

"Weed bother you that much?" Liam snapped coolly, taking a long swing of beer. "Fuck this shit," he groaned, "fuck it. I hate this party so much. I heard Zayn was here. Fuck him." He took another swig of his drink. Niall feared that if Zayn came within ten feet of Liam, Liam would get into a fight with him, and the worst part was that Niall didn't know who would win.

"Ridiculous," he sniffed, trying to stay mature. "Cowell just turned us into these . . . animals."

"Fuck Cowell. He glorified Larry Stylinson and fucked the rest of us over."

"Not like Larry was ever real," Niall reasoned.

"That's my fucking point," Liam snapped, and threw his beer over the balcony railing. Niall heard it shatter.

"Chill the fuck out, bro," Niall said testily.

"And you can fuck off. Look at these trousers, dude, look at them. My manager told me that my trousers and joggers and whatever the fuck else I where have to sag, he made me get another arm tattoo too. Fuck this. Fuck it. They're going to end up killing me, I'm on fucking Xanax, fuck this."

"Chill. You better not be on it now, Jesus Christ, that's just what we need. _'The Death of Liam Payne Brought One Direction Back Together,'_ " Niall sighed through his nose, "Jesus fucking Christ. You're such a fucking pussy," Niall snapped, grabbing Liam's fifth beer from his hand. "Stop drinking, just fucking stop, you're fucking twenty-four, you have a kid." Liam opened his mouth to object. "And I give zero shits, zero, about your fucking quarter-life-crisis. You're a little fucking bitch, and that's all there is to it."

"You done yet?" Liam asked, blasé, and grabbed another beer from one of the tables surrounding them. Niall groaned, and then he screamed into the night sky of London, a loud, throaty scream, _and nobody paid attention to it, because he was at a fucking after-party, for Christ's sake._ The balcony doors were shut and the music was so loud Niall would be surprised if even Liam heard him, who was standing right next to him.

"I am so sick of this," Niall muttered, "the fucking golf caps and all of this fucking shit--I hate golfing, and my management makes me pretend that I fucking love it."

And then Niall fell silent, and Liam was even quieter, because the balcony doors slammed open and there stood Zayn, his hair jet-black and without the green tips Niall had always seen him with in the tabloids. He was muscular as usual, ink-black tattoos standing out on his tan skin.

"Bloody hell," Zayn groaned, and so did Niall, because the last time they'd met was when Louis punched him and Zayn punched him harder, after the friendly knee-tap Niall gave Zayn at the former BRITs when his management told him to.

"Fuck you too," Liam muttered, and pulled a blunt out of his pocket, and Niall he should've wonder _why in the fucking hell Liam had a fucking lit blunt in his pocket_ , but he didn't, and he wanted to fucking beat Zayn up until he had to get an ambulance called for him, just like what Zayn did to Louis, even though Niall thought Louis was like every other short, skinny guy--insecure, too sarcastic, and a bitch.

"You shouldn't do weed and drink," Niall muttered to Liam, and pulled a cigarette out of his own pocket, even though nobody--not even his management--knew he smoked. "End up like Louis did last week," Niall said, and he wanted to fucking kill Louis with the stunts he pulled. "Hospital had to put him on an IV."

"Louis was in the hospital?" Zayn asked, an edge of hurt to his voice, and so Niall ignored him, because that hurt was _bullshit_.

"He's always in the hospital, mate," Liam said, and then shut up once Niall elbowed him.

And then a second later, Harry and Louis--the fucking _dynamic duo_ \--appeared, Harry taller than usual--Niall heard his management was making him wear more heeled boots than usual--and Louis sour as always, his cheekbones sunken in. The beard, Eleanor, was by his side. Niall had heard that Eleanor, Harry, and Louis were good friends, but Eleanor had always scared Niall with her blank, broken eyes and skeletal figure. Niall hated One Direction's management for what they did to her, for what they did for them, but it'd always came with the contract. They knew that, Zayn knew that, Eleanor knew that, but she was young, too young, too naive and trusting when she signed, similar to them in the beginning, and Louis couldn't warn her because he was already fucking broken.

"Fookin' great," Harry moaned, eyeing Zayn and his new tattoos.

"You're with Louis." Zayn looked Harry up and down, and sniffed. "Dunno what I expected. Just like when I was in the band."

"You were never in the fucking band, you traitor," Louis bit, and Harry put a hand on his shoulder as if to calm him, steady him, but it didn't really work. Eleanor wobbled on her heels for a moment, and Harry steadied her, holding onto her arm as if she would blow away. The balcony doors where shut now, and Niall knew if any photos were taken they'd be dead, sued to hell by their management companies.

"El, perhaps you should sit down," Zayn said softly, eyeballing her and her pale, pale face.

Niall had heard she was anorexic, at least sick in someway.

"I hate this, these parties, that they make me go," she said softly. Niall knew that she was talking about Louis' management. They made her follow him everywhere. "Taking Xanax, all that shit, fuck, they don't even care . . . ," she murmured, and glared at Zayn, who flinched, because they'd always been close- _ish_ before he left.

"I didn't realize you three came," Niall said, mainly to Harry, who was the most level-headed one there other than himself. "We weren't going to, but we got the notification to. I think they wanted to stir up more controversy about _Larry Stylinson_ ," Harry said, as if _Larry Stylinson_ was an alien, an impersonation, and perhaps that was what it really was.

"Ridiculous. I can pretend to be in a secret gay relationship with Louis but I can't come out as bi," he muttered, but then straightened up, as if remembering his place. He was the youngest, sure, Niall knew, but he'd always been the most mature, even in the beginning, and Niall knew he'd always felt as if he had to be mature.

"Pass the blunt?" Zayn asked Liam, who did before Niall could smack him to remind him that _fuck Zayn, fuck him_.

"Thanks, mate."

"Why're you even fucking out here? You're not welcome," Louis snapped, and Harry was too busy convincing Eleanor that she'll be okay, even if that was a lie, to attempt to calm him.

"Why're you out here, then?" Zayn bit back, his eyes lit with a fire of rage, "You know they fucking hate you," and Niall knew that was like a slap in the face to Louis because it was true, in a sense, because he was annoying and insecure, and he was the least memorable one in the band, even though the band was destined to fade, fade away.

"Fuck you!" Louis screamed, and Harry was sudden to notice the tension and stepped in front of Louis and faced the punch Zayn threw, and Harry grabbed Zayn's hand and stared him into his eyes, standing three inches over him.

"Grow up," he snapped, and that was worse than any insult anybody could've possibly said to Zayn, because Zayn still acted like a child, and that was his weak spot.

"Screw you," Zayn said weakly, and Harry let go of his wrist, and Zayn would've fallen had not Liam grabbed him by the waist and pulled him back up. Louis looked proud, even though he'd started the fight and his protector had ended it.

Harry ignored what Zayn said, too busy whispering threats to Louis, and Niall knew he'd always been a kiss-up to management.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Niall suddenly said, glaring at everybody on the balcony. "We can't even be in the same room with each other."

"Wonder why," Louis said sarcastically, glancing at Zayn, who growled back, and Niall pulled his fourth cigarette of the night out of his pack. Harry was the only one who didn't smoke, but Niall also knew he went to those rich gay clubs and did coke on occasion, perhaps three times a year, and maybe that was his escape; doing coke in the luxury area of a gay club. Liam was ripping at the chain attached to his shirt, mumbling obscenities. Zayn rolled his eyes and helped him unravel it with nimble fingers, and Niall rolled his eyes too, because he hated that Liam and Zayn could manage to tolerate each other, and he himself could barely tolerate Zayn, nor could Harry, so why should Liam, the practical child, be able to?

"Don't blame anybody, Louis," Harry said loudly, and Louis went tomato-red at being called out. 

“It's everybody's fault for what we've become."

"Bullshit," Niall suddenly said, and he knew everybody was surprised, because he never talked back. Everybody thought he was some Harry, quiet and mature, but he wasn't. "We all know the truth." He eyed Zayn, who glanced at the floor, because it was one thing for Niall to dislike you, but it was another thing for him to publicly call you out.

"You, Niall, out of all people?" Harry sighed.

"Fuckin' ridiculous," Liam muttered, "this is fuckin' ridiculous. We're so fuckin' fake. That's why we're pissed, Zayn," he said suddenly, "because you just left us."

Louis rolled his eyes. "You realize this now? Fookin' retarded, you are," he said, but went quiet at Harry's glare.

"You got to escape, you got to become Zayn. Your solo career is the only one that really fuckin' took off, other than Harry's, but fuck Harry--no offense, mate--and it only took off because of us. You're famous because of our band and you gave us zero credit, you just complained the fuck out of being in the band. Then you got to go be yourself, and then when we leave, we have to create newer, faker personas, and we have to give those dumbass fans empty promises about getting the band back together. You ask us why we're pissed, that's why, because you got a fucking escape, and look where we're at. Louis and Harry are still pretending to be secretly gay. I look like a fucking idiot. Niall looks like Donald Trump. And you, you have everything, and you just left us, and you know very well that none of us would've done that, because we all made the promise that we wouldn't, but you did it anyway. So fuck you, Zayn, fuck you."

"Yeah, whatever," Zayn muttered, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Liam stood up, angered.

"We've done everything. We sent fucking emails. We called. And you just left. And when we tell you how we feel, you just disregard it, as if everything I say is fucking idiotic." 

Zayn stood up, suddenly enraged, his hands balled up in fists. "What the fuck do you want me to say, okay?! I'm sorry for something I did four years ago when I was fucking dumb and selfish?!"

"Yes!" Liam cried. "Yes!"

"My fucking God, can't you just let go of things? You and Louis, both of you--"

"We're all angry! Everybody's angry," Niall cut in, his eyes wide and angered. "And Jesus Christ, why can't you just see that? Look at Harry, fucking just look at him! He acts so calm, but he fucking resents you, okay?! We all do! Even Tay, you know? After your song collab with her, she called 'arry up and complaint about you practically the whole night, apologizing about collabing with you for what you did to us. Your girlfriend's best friend did that.”

"Taylor's Harry's best friend too," Zayn sneered.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Niall screamed, and knocked a plate of nachos off of the balcony table. "You are such a fucking dick! Next time Liam tries to beat you up, I won't hold him back, I really won't. Next time Harry's drunk out of his mind and threatens to beat you up, I won't fucking stop him." 

“I am trying!" Zayn shouted back, "I am! Okay? I'm trying to sort things out and I don't know how. This is a mess, Niall," he said, and his voice broke, and he sniffled. "Everything in this industry is fake. You act as if I decide every for myself, but I don't. I had to diss you guys, the band, in interviews, okay? They threatened you, they threatened me, and it's fucked up. My music is barely mine. And I know how much they broke you, look at Liam for Christ's sake, look at Louis, and I'm so close, so close, to becoming them. They will break me. They will break you and Harry. They will. You know them!"

"So fuck it," Louis spoke for the first time in minutes, he voice wavering. Let's go. Fuck this. Let's get on a plane."

"They'll freeze the accounts, they'll track us, I've fucking tried," Zayn muttered.

"They've broken us!" Louis screamed, his voice raw and tear-filled. "We were best friends, and look at us now! You broke my ribs three months ago, this is their goal. To break us. Liam's binge-drinking. He dresses like a fucking fifteen-year-old. Niall's smoking, for fucking God's sake, and Harry does coke sometimes!"

"Twice a year," Harry corrected quietly, "only twice a year, Lou."

"I miss you, okay?" Zayn murmured. "I miss all of you. And this is fucking bullshit. We're bullshit. We're fake. We need to fix this."

"What are you going on about?" Harry snapped, and suddenly Zayn took his phone out out, and he's live streaming on Instagram.

"Fuck this!" Zayn screams, and the comments are exploding with confused fans, asking what the hell is wrong with him. He steadies his shaking hand. "My name is Zayn Malik," he says slowly. "I am twenty-five, and everything you know about me and my old band is fake. Everything you know about my ex-band members is fake." And suddenly everybody's phone is ringing, and it's management, because when isn't it? And Niall knows that they're dead, but they're so fucking sick. Zayn shoves the phone to Louis.

"Spill," he hisses.

"Fuck--um, hi, I'm Louis--"

"Fucking spill!"

"My best mate is Harry, and many of you think I'm dating him, and you called it 'Larry Stylinson,' but we aren't actually. You think we are because our old management company created that monster. They made us pretend like we're gay, pretend that we're in a secret relationship for publicity, pretend that 'm pretending to date Eleanor, who's a lovey girl, and fuck this! Fuck it!" He passed the phone to Niall.

"I'm Niall, I'm twenty-four, and I fucking hate golfing. I wear fucking golf caps and I hate them, and I fucking smoke, and I pretend like I'm innocent and shit--um, my life is pretty much bullshit. Dunno what you expected. I'm not as interesting as Liam--here, take Liam," and Niall throws the phone to Liam.

"Fuck this!" Liam shouts, and his hands are thrown up in the air, rock n’ roll style. "I'm Liam-fucking-Payne, and my management makes me act and dress like a fifteen-year-old fucking idiot! I have a child, that's the only thing I like, and I fucking hate Cheryl, fuck her! I hate everything that I wear, how I talk, how I cut my hair, I hate that we can't even tweet ourselves, I hate that I don't even know my Instagram password. I hate this industry!" he screams, and passes the phone to Harry, who's now wide-eyed and all concerned-looking.

"Um, hi, um, um, I'm, um, Harr-eh--"

"Don't be a twat!" Zayn shouts, and he's holding a blunt in one hand and a beer in the other, and Niall wants to call him a dumbarse, but he doesn't.

"I'm Harry Styles, and I'm fookin’ bisexual!" Harry shouts, immediately letting loose. "You bitches thought I was gay and dating Louis--ew, by the way--but no, I have another boyfriend, and his name is Nick! And I pretended to date Taylor Swift, because I was forced to, but her management forced her to as well, so fook all of you who act as if the girls are the bitches and we're not. We're all the puppets, and fook you for not seeing this. So fook this, fook you, fook my management, because I'm done with this fookin' shit!" Harry throws the phone back to Zayn, who's eyes are red.

Zayn stares at the phone for a second, as if he's making a decision. "Dear fans: we're bullshit. Everything you love and hate about is bullshit. Any last words, boys?" Zayn asks, and he grins a sharp grin of a rebellious teenager, of a rebellious teenager he never got to be. When nobody says anything else, Zayn reels his arm behind his back, and throws his phone over the edge of the balcony. He grins, his hair messed up, his eyes wild. "Are we done with everything?" Zayn asks, and Niall nods, and they're laughing and screaming and crying.

"We're done."


End file.
